


Cafe

by OthilaOdal



Category: Death Note
Genre: Boys' Love, Coffee Shops, Dating, Internal Conflict, Love, M/M, Requited Love, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-27
Updated: 2013-07-27
Packaged: 2017-12-21 11:33:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/899802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OthilaOdal/pseuds/OthilaOdal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt is, as usual, late for a date and Mello finds himself considering other options...that don't include Matt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cafe

Matt was always late for their weekly dates, Mello knew. At first it used to bother him but the older their relationship got the more routine the lapse became and Mello no longer bothered waiting and wondering. He simply got to the café, ordered a moccaccino and caught up on his reading.

The clink of a hot cup being set on his table distracted Mello from his reading.

"Thank you." He said, looking up at the waiter.

The waiter smiled at him. Not your regular everyday smile that you'd give to anyone passing you by or sharing the elevator with you. But a smile that seemed to be meant for him, a smile coupled with a look that lingered on Mello's face and made one of his brows travel further up his forehead.

His back straightened. _Am I being hit on while waiting for my boyfriend?_ He wondered watching the waiter leave.

He shook his head. He could've easily misinterpreted the waiter's intentions, he thought, looking back at the book in his hands and trying to focus on the words. The words were making no sense mixed with all the background noise in his head. He glanced towards the waiter and found that he was still watching Mello, smiling at him.

Mello looked away and, for some reason, considered for a second. _I mean he is good looking._ He found himself thinking.

The waiter walked by the front of Mello's table to serve the table next to him. _He has a nice ass_. Mello thought before grinning to himself and looking back down at the words he was no longer paying attention to. He gave himself the time to really look at the man. He was tall in his neat dress pants, despite the apron around his waist, and stood straight with a broad back and toned arms. His face was clean. His black hair neatly combed back.

"Sorry I'm late!"

Mello's head twisted to source of the voice. Matt was rushing at the table, out of breath and yet smiling. His red hair was disheveled. His pants hadn't been ironed in forever. His boots were undone. His nails were chipped and there was ash on his shirt and all over his goggles.

Mello rolled his eyes at the redhead as he took the seat in front of him and sighed.

"Matty, how many times must I tell you to clean your damn goggles?" He pulled the contraption off Matt's head. "Vision is important. You're going to get yourself into an accident." Mello pulled out a tissue and wiped the lens. "And then I'm going to sit here forever waiting for you to come and who's going to tell me you're dead somewhere, huh? How am I supposed to find out? From the news channel?"

Matt simply stared at Mello, watching the blonde go on and on about how careless and improper Matt was. He rested his elbow on the table, his head on his hand and listened, smiling. He then leaned across the table and pecked Mello on the cheek.

The blonde stopped wiping the lens. His eyes went wide. Blood rushed to his face and he was sure he resembled a tomato. He could feel the heat on his face, the hammering of his heart against his ribs. His breath got hotter. He frowned down at the goggles.

"Gah!" He said, face still red as the sinking sun. "This thing won't come off."

He scrubbed the lenses harder to wipe away ash that wasn't even there anymore. He could feel Matt's smile spreading ear to ear. He was sure the redhead could see the honey glow in his cheeks.

Matt turned around to call the waiter.

Mello looked up at the men as Matt placed his order but all he saw was Matt. His hair was wildfire. Mello could remember how it had looked last week when they had gone greek, the way it tousled up in Mello's hands, tickled and brushed his skin when Matt kissed his neck. His sickly pale skin had come to life with red where Mello dug his nails and bit his nipple. His chapped lips had glistened when Mello had left them wet. His hands, with those chipped nails, had searched Mello's body for the right spots, sending shivers over his skin when they managed to find them.

Mello saw Matt and then the waiter next to him, a foreign man, too neat, too proper, too boring.

When the waiter left and Matt turned his attention back to Mello he found a small smile on the blonde's face.

"What?" Matt asked.

"You should iron your jeans." Mello told him. "You look like a hobo." He leaned in and pressed their lips together. "Maybe we could go home and take them off and I could iron them for you."

Matt smiled at him. Mello's eyes shot at his lips as the redhead quickly ran his tongue over them. He watched as Matt adjusted himself in his seat and felt as his leg pressed against Mello's.

"Maybe…" He said.

And Mello knew the wait was worth it.

**The End.**


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